


my name, your voice

by hhaikyuuties



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, also who is with kuroo where is his significant other, anyway enjoy, can you tell i wanted to write about iwaoi so bad the entire time, happy birthday to my sister, it could be tsukki it could be kenma it could be daichi we just don't know, it could have been so much worse but i controlled myself, the usual pining and sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:04:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hhaikyuuties/pseuds/hhaikyuuties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He came here with a singular purpose.  Eyes scanning the people, gaze shuffling between the swaying bodies, he sought one figure, the image that burned behind his eyelids as he slept, thought, dreamed. The person who was never elusive seemed to elude his vision now, sharp eyes squinting to see past blinking colors, flailing limbs, a scene made nearly blurry just from the slurring speech that seemed to affect the lighting itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my name, your voice

Akaashi walked through the door, clad in a dark gray sweater, long pale neck ethereal next to an expression equal parts somber and apprehensive. One hand jammed into dark jeans (worn for the first time for the occasion, although he would never admit) he gracefully slipped through the crowds of college kids who were something short of graceful, glitter and reindeer antlers and little lights adding a small change to a typical scene. His smooth movements contrasted with those in the apartment but, given the dim lighting and abundant drink, he surmised that his unfitting person was not of note.

He came here with a singular purpose. Eyes scanning the people, gaze shuffling between the swaying bodies, he sought one figure, the image that burned behind his eyelids as he slept, thought, dreamed. The person who was never elusive seemed to elude his vision now, sharp eyes squinting to see past blinking colors, flailing limbs, a scene made nearly blurry just from the slurring speech that seemed to affect the lighting itself.

And then he found him. Hair characteristically obnoxious, voice audible even from a distance filled with other bodies, Bokuto stood leaning on the world's most horrifying Christmas sweater--which Akaashi knew belonged to Oikawa before even looking up to see the owner's face--with his own sweater's sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing toned arms leading down to strong wrists and calloused hands, one of which gripped a telltale bottle, its contents somewhat diminished. He seemed to be telling some story to the brunette setter while Iwaizumi looked off to the side, slight annoyance wrinkling his face as Oikawa absentmindedly fiddled with the dark-haired boy's belt loop.

But the enthusiastic tale stopped mid-sentence, jaw staying open with a half-utterance, when Bokuto's eyes met with Akaashi's, the dim lighting not diminishing recognition. 

It had been nearly a year since Akaashi had seen those eyes, his studies having taken him to America while Bokuto was all over Japan winning game after game on university volleyball courts. 

Akaashi wasn't sure if he should smile, or wave, or walk over. In fact, half of him wanted to simply leave the way he came, slipping past the nameless faces and out the door into the cold night air. But he didn't. He stood, motionless, breath caught in his throat and lungs threatening to fail because of how good, how warmly familiar, how casually handsome Bokuto looked as he began to make his way over. Akaashi remembered Bokuto's step, his gait and the pace of his walk, but to see how exactly the same it was now as in his memory made him both ecstatic and sick. 

"Akaashi!" The silver haired boy shouted from yards away, some nearby people throwing him hazy but irritated glares. Akaashi merely nodded minimally, tongue dry and immobile, nails digging into palms, blood pulsing. Memories overwhelmed his consciousness, old emotions pouring into him like a waterfall disrupting otherwise tranquil water below. The feelings of a reassuring pat on the shoulder, of a playful nudge to the side, and most powerfully, of fleeting fingertips just barely grazing the lower back. 

"Has my long-lost love finally returned from war?!" Bokuto joked, hand ruffling Akaashi's previously neat hair, lingering there a bit too long for Akaashi's comfort. Bokuto's words and touch dug deep as Akaashi, against all his will, wished for them to not be just Bokuto's casual playful nature. Pining, Akaashi realized. I'm pathetic.

He brushed the hand off his head and leveled the taller boy with a characteristic blank look. "I see you haven't grown up a bit." 

(It was a lie. Bokuto had outgrown some of his boyish features and, somehow, had even gained a little more height. His personality, however, Akaashi predicted to be unchanged.)

Akaashi's sharp words elicited a whine from the ace, the reaction more due to his personality rather than the alcohol. But maybe there was more present in his system than Akaashi originally thought, for Bokuto's voice suddenly dropped and fingers were splayed on Akaashi's sweater. "Look at you. Growing into a man without me."

Akaashi's mind flipped inside his skull and his eyes darted up to meet the other's. Clearly it took a second for Bokuto's thoughts to catch up with his mouth, but soon enough a blush spread on his face and jittery hands went flying behind his flushed neck. He laughed obnoxiously, trying to conceal his words, or his embarrassment, but whatever it was, a laugh would not erase the feeling Akaashi got, a sense that maybe he was the one who had been drinking or, perhaps more plausibly, he had fallen asleep amidst studying.

The other part of Akaashi, a small but still-there part, longed to wrap his arms around Bokuto's neck and bring their faces together, actions making clear something he had been unable, for years, to put into words. The part that hoped his intoxicated words held some truth rather than seemingly harmless teasing.

But the rational part of Akaashi, the side of him who had breathed in the same court air as Bokuto, who had practiced, sweat, ached, shouted, and nearly cried on the same floors as him, knew their bond wasn't of that sort. And the part of him that remembered Bokuto's hand in a soft, small female one, pretty painted lips pressing a kiss into the underside of the ace's jaw, violently reprimanded him for his thoughts through a churning in his stomach.

"Unlike you, Bokuto-san, I don't need to be babysat to grow up."

"Hey, don't you have any respect for me?" Bokuto asked, leaning in a bit too close.

"Not as long as you still have that ridiculous hair."

Bokuto dove into a rant about his supposed superior hairstyle, rambling on as he pulled Akaashi over to his friends, apparently unfazed by how Oikawa was simply draped over an Iwaizumi who seemed less irritated and more flustered as time elapsed. Kuroo flashed a grin in Akaashi's direction and a couple others waved. 

"Finally. He really wouldn't shut up about you this week." Kuroo, with his usual Cheshire smile, poked Bokuto's forehead when he began to protest. "He was worried you would come back covered in tattoos and piercings. Although he did say he thought that could be hot." Now Bokuto was all angry muffles as Kuroo's hand covered his mouth.

"What a pervert." Akaashi deadpanned, glancing blankly at Bokuto (one of his few talents, Akaashi thought) as Bokuto turned noticeably red even in the dark setting. Kuroo looked unapologetic as ever. What the hell was I thinking, coming here? The alcohol-fueled teasing was only encouraging Akaashi to feel--and he really didn't want to feel, not like this. 

"Would Iwa-chan get a tattoo for me?" A slightly tipsy Oikawa asked, voice breaking into their conversation, tone indicative of the puppy-dog eyes he was surely directing at Iwaizumi.

"Hell no."

"He probably would," Kuroo mock-whispered to Akaashi, ignoring the glare Iwaizumi shot him as Oikawa grinned smugly.

And how jealous Akaashi was of those two, of their casual touches and teases and small smiles, of how perfectly their relationship seemed to have evolved while Akaashi was left a pining mess, too scared to act and in too deep to move on.

Thousands of miles away, but just the sound of Bokuto's voice brought everything back.

Not that he left to forget; rather, he left despite knowing in some ways he would rather stay. He left knowing it was best for his studies, for his future. That it could be a way to try to move past his unrequited feelings was just an added bonus; yet its failure to work proved more painful than staying might have been.

Akaashi wasn't laughing--not that he usually laughed much--but Kuroo had sensed something off and honed in on it, and sent Akaashi a knowing look. "Want a drink?" Kuroo threw a friendly arm over Akaashi's shoulders. Akaashi shook his head. That's the last thing I need right now.

"I was actually just dropping by quickly. I have to be up early for something tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Saturday."

"Family's in town." Akaashi shrugged, moving away from Kuroo. 

Bokuto grimaced. "Leaving already? We should hang out this weekend."

Akaashi sighed. "Maybe, Bokuto-san. We'll see."

"Don't be an ass, Keiji," Bokuto mumbled, barely audible among the noise and music. But audible enough.

"What." Keiji? Akaashi could count on one hand the number of times Bokuto had called him by his given name.

"I said don't be an ass!" The taller boy half-shouted, throwing arms up in the air. "You come back after a year, a year of largely ignoring my efforts of staying in contact, and you barely talk to me and act like you hate me."

"I don't hate you, Bokuto-san." Akaashi could feel his forehead scrunched up with irritation and confusion.

"Hah." The sound was short and bitter as Bokuto looked off to the side, his expression defeated and surprisingly angry for someone usually so upbeat. He actually seems hurt, Akaashi thought. 

"Why would I hate you?" Out of the corner of his eye, Akaashi saw Kuroo lightly roll his eyes.

"Wish I knew," Bokuto grumbled, then continued, "but I don't. It's killing me."

Akaashi wished Bokuto wouldn't exaggerate so much. 

"I don't hate you. I just was giving us both some space," he answered vaguely.

Bokuto slapped a hand against the wall behind Akaashi's head, part of the dark-haired boy's vision suddenly obstructed by a well-toned arm, the party lights illuminating the tendons and muscles. Akaashi swallowed thickly.

Bokuto exhaled, then seemed to compose himself somewhat. "Just tell me what I did, or what I should do, or whatever, Akaashi, to make it the way it was before."

Akaashi sighed. It was never anything you did. It was all me, always me. "You didn't do anything wrong. I just can't go back to the way it was before."

Bokuto looked hurt, a bit angry, but more puzzled than anything else. 

Kuroo, who now stood a bit away but was apparently still eavesdropping, broke the near-trance. "Just tell him, Akaashi. I'm getting an ulcer over here."

"Tell him what?" Akaashi asked at the same time Bokuto asked "Tell me what?", their faces mirror images with the same questioning look.

"You know," Kuroo responded to Akaashi, the statement clear and final. Then he pushed away from the wall and disappeared into the crowd with a lazy wave.

"What did he mean? You know what he meant," Bokuto inquired suspiciously. Now his whole forearm rested on the wall and the two were practically touching chests as Bokuto waited for an answer, head cocked to the side. The casual movement apparently was normal to Bokuto but Akaashi couldn't stand it, couldn't stand here feeling the heat radiate off Bokuto, couldn't handle the scent of the cologne Bokuto had begun to use after college, couldn't tolerate the slight downturn of Bokuto's lips he wished to erase, his own slight grimace deepening in response. 

Akaashi sighed in defeat.

And then he kissed him. First, a slight peck on the seam of the older boy's lips, then fully, 

He expected a lot of reactions--including Bokuto jumping away, which is what he just did--but not what followed.

"Oh my god, Akaashi, are you serious."

"Yes. Sorry." He cast his eyes down, unable to look at Bokuto.

Akaashi wasn't prepared for the hand forcing his gaze upward or the lips that came crashing into his before he could even process that movement occurred. 

Akaashi pushed back slightly. 

"What?" Bokuto asks, all uncertainty and nervousness.

"Do you mean this? Are you sure?"

"I've always been sure." A kiss to Akaashi's forehead, his cheek, his jaw. 

"Since when?" Akaashi felt and looked confused, complete thoughts failing him.

"I don't remember when I wasn't sure about you, Keiji."

And Akaashi smiled. Small and simple, but there. And he reached up to cup Bokuto's face in his hands, the ace's unsure smile growing stronger.

"Bokuto-san."

"Koutarou," he corrected, bristling slightly at the formality. Akaashi chucked.

"Okay. Koutarou."

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday to my sister--my reason for finally writing bokuaka. 
> 
> Feel free to talk about gay volleyball boys with me @hhaikyuuties.tumblr.com!


End file.
